JB2 JAMES BOND: Rogue Agent
by Dan Bivens
Summary: James Bond, back in action again after the events of the CRASH COURSE story, a 00 agent goes rogue! Bond learns the identity of the SPECTRE leader he holds responsible for Vesper Lynd's death!
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Having paid penance to the gods of MI6, so to speak, James Bond, 007, had been, finally, called into the opulent, though bureaucratic, office of M.

The sandy-haired, blue-eyed, square-jawed, well-dressed agent couldn't help but feel it might be yet another maneuver at extending unspoken punishment regarding his conduct as a newly-elevated 00, not to mention unauthorized use of the Aston Martin DB5, which he had won off a man named Dimitrios in Nassau and which Q, as James Bond referred to Major Boothroyd, had modified into a veritable army on expensive wheels.

"Good morning, M," said James after several tension filled minutes of silence, with him again sitting in the elegant straight-backed chair situated before the ornate wooden desk behind which sat the short-cut, white-haired lady in direct charge of all 00s. He waited patiently, a smug half-smile on his ruggedly handsome face, while M finished with the open folders currently demanding her ready attention. Until…

"How long has it been, 007?" M finally asked while leaning back in her ergonomically comfortable leather office chair with her hands folded and her hooded eyes glaring headlong into the steely gaze of James Bond. "How long since you were last given a true assignment?"

"Three months, six days, eighteen hours, M," said James with a sardonic smile and a devilish twinkling in his often cruel eyes. "Not that I'm counting."

"Oh, of course not," M said sarcastically as she slowly leaned forward to tap a random button on her computer's keyboard to activate it and direct it away from its constant screensaver display of the MI6 shield. "I think I finally have something that you can handle without getting 'personal', as you did with your last official mission as a 00."

Although, inwardly, James Bond felt as if he could literally jump for joy over the thought of, finally, being allowed to carry out, single-handedly, a true MI6-sanctioned assignment, outwardly he remained poised and nonplussed, as he said with a single nod, "Certainly, M. It wouldn't have anything to do with the leads I provided you after interrogating the late Mr. White, would it?"

Scowling intensely, her eyes narrowed while locked onto 007's cool blue eyes with the severity of twin lasers, M said by way of clarification, "You mean the information you were forced to give up after you assassinated an important link to SPECTRE without official sanction? I would hardly say that qualifies as a 'good deed' deserving of reward, Mr. Bond. Would you?"

Not wishing to trade cultivated insults with his immediate superior, James finally asked seriously, "What's the mission, M?", and let lay the rest of the sticky situation regarding his feelings connected with the quasi-suicidal death of Vesper Lynd.

Shifting mental gears as easily as one might expect from a person of power within the secretive community of espionage and assassination, M picked up a closed folder, from amongst all the others on her desk, and handed it across to James, who half-stood in order to take possession of it before reseating himself.

"His name is Aidan Daryl and, like you, he is one of the newer members of the 00s. 009, to be exact. And we have reason to suspect that he has gone 'rogue'. Perhaps even a double-agent working with North Korea as well as certain terrorist groups."

"Selling state secrets?" asked a suddenly dead-serious James Bond as he looked over the multi-page documents regarding an active secret British agent with a 00's license to kill.

"We believe so," answered M guardedly, "perhaps much, much worse."

"I presume, M, that you need me to do more than follow 009 around," said James as his cruel blue eyes once again sought out the hooded gaze of the grand dame in direct charge of such operations and operatives. "Otherwise you wouldn't be assigning this to a 00."

Leaning all the way forward, forearms on her desk's neatly arranged top, hands tensely clasped, facial affectation as sternly somber as James had seen since breaking into her supposedly secret flat, M at last said, "After you learn all you can about 009's contacts, Mr. Bond, I want you to terminate him with extreme prejudice."

Closing the folder, after he'd committed its copious contents to a near-photographic memory, James Bond stood, setting the folder back onto M's impeccable escritoire, and finally sarcastically saying, with a bemused smirk, "Is there any other way to terminate?"

Having swept out of the office with the self-assured strides of an extremely self-sufficient man, the only kind capable of carrying a 00 classification, M couldn't help but smile ever-so-slightly. She knew, even though she'd never vocalize it, that no one but James Bond could both learn all there was to know regarding a rogue MI6 agent, as well as being able to coldly execute someone he knew to be a fellow operative out of London.

END OF CHAPTER 1


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

"Well," James smilingly said when he saw the beautiful-yet-professionally dressed young woman, roughly his age, seated at the desk situated in the anteroom to M's office, "I don't remember seeing you out here when I first came in."

"Yes, well, I had some duties to attend on behalf of M in one of the other MI6 departments," she said with a slow smile as she clearly struggled against the usual sexual enticement evoked by 007's dapper presence. "You must be James Bond. I recognize you from your docket's picture."

"Then you have me at a disadvantage," said 007 with a sly smile and sweet tone. "Shall we be properly introduced or would you be willing to…?"

"My name's Moneypenny," the woman with the light-brown hair said suddenly. "Jane Moneypenny. I'm M's executive secretary."

"Well, Ms. Moneypenny," James said solicitously as he prepared to leave the auspicious offices of the immediate head of MI6's top-secret operations, "perhaps, sometime or the other, you could be my private secretary. Lord knows, I could use one."

"I wasn't aware a 00 had an office, Mr. Bond," said Moneypenny with as straight a face as she could muster.

"I don't," was James' parting reply punctuated by a wicked wink and a pleasing smile just before closing the outer office door behind him.

Jane Moneypenny couldn't help but entertain tantalizing fantasies, while stifling a warm smile in order to return her highly intelligent mind to the multiple responsibilities still ahead of her this day. Of course, James Bond's handsome face and beautiful blue eyes would scarcely be very far away from her thoughts.

Little could she know that this was the beginning of what would become a very long and complicated affiliation between MI6 executive secretary and dangerous, both with a gun and a kiss, secret agent.

END OF CHAPTER 2


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Days later, long after 007 had proceeded down into the sub-floor depths of Q Branch in order for Q himself to bestow upon him any and all useful super-secret appurtenances to aid in his latest assignment…

…009, the more-than-familiar target of James Bond's mission, was busy using the occasion of his own mission in the City of Lights, better known as Paris, France, to not only carry out his latest pro-crown activities but meet with his clandestine contact through which he sold not only his acquired secrets, but even his services as a trained assassin with a mandated license to kill.

"Me pardonnez-vous, mais avez-vous une lumière ?" said the contact in perfect French, accent and syntax, even though Aidan Daryl knew him to be an active member of an aberrant Muslim group closely associated with the likes of Osama Bin Laden as well as the late, by way of a post-trial hanging, Saddam Hussein. As well as many more not generally known, but equally deadly, individuals.

"Désolé, mais je ne fume plus, mais moi avoir une certaine gomme contre le tabac," replied 009 with an almost flawless French accent along with an ease of understanding that came with both practice and implementation.

Having used the agreed-upon sign/countersign, which merely involved one asking, in French, for a light for a smoke and the other offering, instead, some anti-smoking gum, it was time for the two to proceed with the secretive exchange of information for a half-million in English pound notes.

"Take this watch," said Aidan quietly, glancing about to make certain his French-speaking pro-terrorist contact had not been followed, while smoothly removing the special Q Branch obtained timepiece that had, as part of its covert utilities, a scanning camera ideal for quickly copying any and all top-secret documents. "You can access it by simply inserting its multi-Gig memory stick into any computer's external port and typing in the password: mockingbird. Okay? Now…if you want more, it's going to cost twice as much. I can't expect my MI6 handlers to believe me completely aboveboard much longer. Especially since my mission here in Paris is about to come to a bloody conclusion. Understand?"

"Oui," said the pro-terrorist contact with a curt nod, and then, in English, "Yes. I understand."

Having concluded their illicit business, the two men parted and strode away in opposite directions. Unknown to Aidan Daryl, 009, his actions had not gone completely unobserved.

James Bond, 007, was sitting in his gadget-laden DB5, which had been specially flown to Paris at roughly the same time as the agent himself, several city blocks away using unbelievably powerful miniature binoculars housed in eyeglass frames and had watched the entire exchange.

"Well, well, Mr. Daryl," quipped James under his breath with a cold-blooded smile on his hardened, though handsome, features, "aren't we the naughty double-agent?"

Having said that, to no one in particular, James removed the frames containing the miniature, albeit very powerful, binoculars, then folded them flat in order to slip them into the inside pocket of his expensively tailored and pressed suit's coat. Then 007 started his DB5's enhanced 4.0 L Tadek Marek I6 engine and promptly proceeded in the general direction of, first, the terrorist who'd obtained, clearly for quite a bit of money, a watch that, obviously, did much more than simply tell the time.

After all, James Bond already knew full well where to find Aidan Daryl, since he was actually in Paris on top-secret assignment for which 007 had been privy, so James' primary duty at the moment was to catch up to the French-speaking pro-terrorist and, after some creative questioning, take back the watch he'd obtained for a briefcase of large-denomination pound notes.

Then, James thought to himself with a surge of excitement only 00 agents could completely comprehend, it will be 009's turn. I can only hope that, at some point, Aidan Daryl's double-agent activities may have brought him into contact with anyone associated with SPECTRE. Then, and only then, can I do something to properly avenge Vesper's death.

END OF CHAPTER 3


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Mu'min ibn Fajir was a longtime member of an aberrant Muslim group embroiled in mass terrorism the likes of which had seen innumerable innocent citizens killed in public explosions, the worst of such being the incidents in New York involving the twin towers of the World Trade Center.

He, exactly like secret British agents, especially those with 00 status, went where they were told and did what they were ordered to do. Which, currently, for the dark skinned, bearded man with the close-cropped profoundly black hair, included the procuring of top-secret items, such as contained within a special scanning wristwatch purchased for a half-million in English pound notes from a rogue agent officially classified as 009 with the very English name of Aidan Daryl.

Little could the vile little man know that he had been both observed and subsequently followed by another 00…007.

While removing the multi-Gig memory stick from the seemingly innocent timepiece turned over to him by 009 barely a half-hour earlier, in order to insert said memory stick into his laptop's external port for swift data download, while in the Paris, France hotel room paid for by the self-same English pound notes used to purchase said data contained within said innocuous wristwatch…

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Who is it?" said Mu'min, first in English and, then, in perfect French. "Qui est-il?"

Though muffled by the closed, and locked, hotel room door, a meek male voice said, "Service d'étage."

Room service? thought the pro-terrorist with a scowl, as he loudly ordered, "Revenu plus tard."

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Service d'étage", the muffled male voice said a second time, causing Mu'min to grumble to himself in muted Muslim while quickly walking from chair and table to locked hotel door whereupon he threw open said door's lock, safety chain in place, in order to crack it just enough to chastise, in perfect French, the hotel employee just outside.

"Je vous ai dit que, je n'ai pas besoin…!"

Suddenly, with more than enough force to snap said safety chain, a sandy-haired, blue-eyed British secret agent burst his way in with silencer-affixed Walther PPK in hand, taking care to quickly close and lock said door behind him.

"Sorry about that, my friend," said 007 in perfect English, both wording and accent, as he gestured for the pro-terrorist to sit with his weapon. "The name's Bond. James Bond. And you are…?"

Nervously, hands held in universal surrender as he stiffly sat in the same chair near the table currently holding his active laptop, the pro-terrorist stammered, "Mu'min…Mu'min ibn Fajir."

"Well, Mu'min," said James as he stood close, but not too close, to the seated in surrender pro-terrorist, "mind if we play a little game? Here's how it'll work: I'll ask questions and you give answers. Okay? Now. What secret information have you been purchasing from 009?"

Quickly cutting dark eyes in the general direction of his open laptop, silently nagging its aberrant Muslim user for a password, Mu'min managed an unconvincing lie, "I, uh, wasn't buying any 'secret information'. You have the wrong…"

Pfft!

"Aggg!"

One silenced shot instantly shattered the kneecap of Mu'min's left leg, producing both unanticipated agony and shocked surprise, as James Bond, 007, next took haphazard aim at the kneecap of the right leg.

"You know," James said viciously, "a shattered kneecap is a hard thing to recover from. Even if you receive prompt and proper medical attention, including surgery, you'd probably never quite walk right again. Now two shattered kneecaps…"

As blood soaked the lower left pant leg and as palpitating pain assailed his martyred mind, Mu'min maintained, "I am not lying! I have done nothing wrong! You have the wrong…!"

Pfft!

"Aggg!"

"All right," James Bond heaved heavily with no semblance of remorse, "now you are a cripple, Mu'min. Would you like to try for being dead?"

"Okay, okay," pleaded the pro-terrorist as sweat soaked his inexpensive shirt while unrelenting agony continued to dominate his mind, "I have purchased a variety of information from Aidan Daryl, 009. This latest shall give those I work for the names and locations of all 00s currently operating in and around my country so that…"

"Have you had any dealings with SPECTRE?" interjected James with a seriousness derived from a singular desire to seek vengeance for Vesper Lynd.

"Wh-what?"

Pfft!

"Aggg!"

As the staggering sensation of incessant pain now included a bullet-smashed shoulder just above the left arm, blood swiftly mingling with perspiration to soak his shirt, Mu'min whimpered, "No, no…I do not know 'SPECTRE'…ahhhhhggggg!"

"Okay, Mu'min," said James with a swift nod, then 007 quickly leveled his silencer-equipped Walther PPK directly at Mu'min's dark-skinned forehead and…

Pfft! Pfft!

As the now definitely dead pro-terrorist went suddenly limp and bloody in the chair, James was quick to unscrew his silencer, inserting it into the coat pocket of his stylish tailored suit while, next, holstering his pistol and, finally, quickly reclaiming both the multi-Gig memory stick from the dead man's laptop as well as the wristwatch of distinct Q Branch design.

"Thank you, Mu'min," muttered James Bond as he strode triumphantly toward the hotel room door in order to unlock it, open it, and exit, "you've been a big help."

Once 007 was back in his army-on-wheels, the masterfully modified Aston Martin DB5, he inserted the memory stick into his special PDA cell, which, at that exact instant, was transmitting a scrambled signal via satellites accessed only by MI6 communications, so that, prior to erasing said data, those responsible for such top-secret information could confirm its authenticity, thus creating a greater case against 009 and for his termination.

In the few seconds such activity took, James received a specially encrypted return text message that merely read, "Info confirmed. Termination to be immediately carried out."

After sending his own return text stating one simple thumb-typed word, "Acknowledged", James Bond officially accepted the second half of his mission in Paris: he would now seek out, question, and then kill Aidan Daryl, 009.

END OF CHAPTER 4


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Meanwhile, Aidan Daryl was preparing to carry out his own 00-sanctioned action for which he had officially been sent to France's City of Lights. He would leave his paid-by-pound notes, but not the ones he'd secretly received from a now-dead pro-terrorist, in order to take a cab to a destination not only known by him, but by the 00 agent sent to extinguish his life even as he was about to extinguish a life with the self-same extreme prejudice.

Though Bond could've killed Aidan by way of a silencer-equipped drive-by, such was simply not his style. Besides, 007 wanted 009 to carry out his official mission first.

What was it the American's, such as the CIA agent James Bond had recently met by the name of Felix Leiter, would say? Ah, yes…better to kill two birds with one stone. Or, in actual fact, assassinate two enemies-of-the-state with, in essence, a single 6.35mm round.

Having first selected the precise, pre-registered French license tag via the rotating collection incorporated into his gadget-rich DB5, James knew that he would now simply appear to be a permanent resident of Paris who, by way of his Aston Martin and his expensive tailored suit, happened to be a rich Frenchman.

007 couldn't help but smile to himself over the seemingly illogical fact that a secret British agent, such as him, could quite easily blend into any locality by, in essence, standing out as a well-heeled gentleman. Something many would believe utterly contrary to common sense.

Such was often the mistake made by Slavic secret agents still active within the borders of the Russian Federation.

"Hide in plain sight" was a practiced philosophy held by not only the 00s, even 009 who, though he was currently riding in the back of a common cab, nonetheless dressed expensively and temporarily held a suite at Paris' Hôtel Ritz, but many American CIA agents. Again, such as Felix Leiter.

"Kill in plain sight" was not.

As far as Aidan knew his double-agent nature was as safe and secret, to himself and to those few to whom he either sold secrets or did 00-style executions, as it ever was and paid absolutely no attention to the DB5, trailing by two cars, with the clearly wealthy Frenchman behind the wheel.

All that was on his multitasking mind, at the moment, was the half-million in English pound notes secreted away in the suitcase specifically marked as "diplomatic papers", meaning it would not undergo inspection by customs upon leaving Paris for London later that afternoon, and, of course, the sanctioned assassination to which he was currently destined.

That was exactly what 007 wanted. Ghost Aidan Daryl, allow him to fire the killing bullet into the brain of some disruptive or destructive individual marked by M for swift disposal, then put one in his brain from his own silencer-muzzled Walther PPK.

But first, thought James Bond with narrowed glare and sneering smirk, I'll get the bastard to tell me if and when he may have done business with anyone connected to SPECTRE. One more puzzle piece designed to get me up close and personal with whomever Number One is within that multi-affiliated firm known as **SP**ecial **E**xecutive for **C**ounter-intelligence, **T**errorism, **R**evenge, and **E**xtortion.

Then, and only then, would Bond coldly kill 009.

END OF CHAPTER 5


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6/CONCLUSION

Anthony Fortunato had built a life based upon employing undetected modes of secretive assassination regarding applied poisons and public overdoses and had, to date, been indirectly responsible for not only the seeming accidental deaths of politically powerful persons, men and women alike, but the overdose deaths of popular persons involved in the entertainment industry that, for one reason or the other, had been marked for "removal".

He had made hundreds of millions in the few years that had seen him go from a murderous delinquent, who was able to so conceal his homicidal activities that he was never so much as arrested as a suspect, into an affluent adult who was very much a part of that intercontinental crowd of party-goers that included the likes of Paris Hilton who, if paid the proper amount of money, could just as easily be his next drug overdose victim.

At present, Anthony Fortunato had been paid a plentiful price, in excess of 10 million English pounds sterling, or, in France, over 15 million Euro dollars, to secretly kill, by way of untraceable toxins, a certain Nicolas Paul Stéphane Sarközy de Nagy-Bocsa, or Nicolas Sarközy to the world at large. Current President of the French Republic.

Not that Anthony cared. He had no true political ties as such could prove especially troublesome to someone who murdered highly visible individuals for such a lucrative living. But the current French President was marked for quiet execution due to the fact that the Socialist Party candidate, Marie-Ségolène Royal, had been, unknown to her, handpicked by devious individuals who held out high hopes for bringing the French government and, through them, other such supposedly democratic organizations under tight puppet-like control.

Thus, the instant President Nicolas Sarközy was ostensibly chosen for such a high office, his proverbial number was, as the old adage said, "up". And Anthony Fortunato was the one to clandestinely collect. In more ways than one.

Holding an actual, by way of MI6 and the British Embassy, appointment with the newest French President, Nicolas Sarközy, under the guise of an export-import representative of the British Commonwealth, Aidan Daryl, 009, would be able to blend in with the other wealthy foreign financiers. All currently courting the French government in order to significantly increase their respective markets while hoping to decrease surcharges and potential tariffs.

Thus 009 could clandestinely prevent the new French President from being poisoned.

Then, after making certain no such spiked drink made it into French President Sarközy's system, Aidan would closely follow Anthony and, at the proper point, pull his silenced weapon and kill the multi-millionaire murderer quickly and quietly.

Such would be when 007 would strike.

Remaining in the background as much as possible, the dapper 00 agent, with his cool blue eyes, sandy hair, handsome though hardened facial features, and unmistakable sensuality, was anything but a proverbial wallflower. Still James Bond kept a sharp eye on his British "brother" from MI6 until the moment came to stop a poisonous assassination attempt.

"Ah, je suis si désolé, Monsieur le président!" exclaimed Aidan Daryl convincingly after "accidentally" causing President Sarközy's poisoned glass of wine to spill during what would appear to everyone else to be a typical toast by a welcomed and wealthy guest.

Anthony Fortunato, having failed for the first time in his evilly illustrious life, hastily exited as inconspicuously as he'd arrived even as 009 followed close behind.

And, following him, was 007.

Having caught up with Anthony, the poison expert and secretive assassin-for-sale, Aidan was quick to pull his silencer-affixed Jericho 941 with a 15-round clip of 9mm bullets, more than enough to end the ruthless life of Mr. Fortunato.

Even though James Bond was not close enough to hear, he amusingly imagined that 009 was telling his intended target something especially witty, which most 00s seemed destined to do at such a point. Probably something similar to, "Excuse me, Mr. Fortunato, but I need to punch your ticket so that you will be able to travel straight to Hell."

Just then, with the barely audible Pfft!, twice, of the automatic weapon held steadily in a single hand, bringing forth flowers of blood from, first, the well-dressed chest and, lastly, the coifed forehead of the killer-for-hire. Thus making Anthony Fortunato to be barely a footnote in the French police blotter.

Having taken the dead man's snake-skin wallet, which would provide the proper effect of having been on the losing end of an unpretentious robbery, Aidan Daryl, 009, made his way back out toward the streets where he would flag down a cab and head straight to the nearest airport in order to use his open-ended ticket to fly, first-class, all the way back to London.

"Not today, Aidan," said Bond under his breath as he stepped up behind the double-agent and, after pressing the business end of his own silenced weapon, the Walther PPK, 007 easily forced 009 toward his parked Aston Martin DB5. "Allow me."

After cautiously climbing into the passenger's side of the Aston Martin whereby he was promptly relieved of his holstered Jericho 941 and, next, snuggly strapped in via a shoulder harness-seat belt combination that, as yet another antipersonnel addition made by Q Branch, would not allow anyone save 007 to release its exceptionally secured locking mechanism.

"Just sit tight, Aidan," said James Bond convincingly, "all I want to do is talk."

Although 009's experience and training should've told him what might not be obvious to the average individual: that there was no way in hell someone so armed would simply wish to "talk". However, that all-too-human part of him that harbored hope forced Aidan to basically believe such just might be true.

"All right," said James after sliding into the driver's seat, still keeping his Walther PPK, still brandishing its silencer extension, aimed straight at his confused captive, "first, let me introduce myself. My name is Bond. James Bond. 007."

Now panic promised to take control, as Aidan Daryl sheepishly asked, "Y-you're a…00?", followed swiftly by a useless struggle against a shoulder harness-seat belt combo that could not be released by anyone other than Bond, no matter how hard Aidan tried. "Wh-what do you w-want from me, Mr. Bond?"

"Information, of course," came James' ready reply. "For instance…why don't you tell me anything you know about…SPECTRE."

"I d-don't know anything about…"

"Don't lie to me," 007 said with a devilish smile as he proceeded to put a bullet into Aidan's left knee. "Now…tell me…or the right knee is next."

By the time an agonized agent, working both sides of the aphoristic street, as such applied to espionage, finished spilling his guts, in the figurative term, it came time for him to spill both guts and brains in the literal as three more whisper-silenced gunshots took their toll via a stomach shot, a heart shot, and, last but never least in such situations, a head shot.

"Thanks, 009, you've been quite helpful," said James Bond as he unscrewed the still-smoking silencer from his Walther PPK before calmly holstering said handgun and pocketing said extension.

Then James started his 4.0 Liter engine and struck out for the City of Lights' outermost limits so that, once he was safely away from prying French eyes, 007 could flip open his gear shifter and thumb the single button within that would, simultaneously, slide open half the car's roof and, then, engage the necessary compressed gas system that would instantly send both passenger's seat and, still secured to said seat, dead double-agent dozens of meters away.

Then, while driving along the roadway in a roundabout manner, eventually return to French Valley Airport where both Bond as well as his very special Aston Martin DB5 could take proper jet-planes back to London, England as the doubly-successful 00 that he was.

For not only did James Bond, 007, succeed in allowing 009 to kill a secretive contract killer and, then, killed the traitorous British agent, but he'd gleaned still more extremely important information in connection with SPECTRE, the vast multi-national organization responsible for what happened to Vesper Lynd, and, more importantly, that organization's formerly mysterious Number One.

"Ernst Stavro Blofeld," Bond muttered to himself as he sat in first class sipping expensive champagne. "I very much look forward to making your eventual acquaintance."

END


End file.
